Page 25 of Scorched Secrets

“It is.” Colin pulled his keys from his pocket and dropped them in Mitch’s palm. “Thanks for the extra help on this. I owe you one.”

“Nah, we’re family, remember?” Mitch flashed a teasing smile before turning to speak with the firefighting crew.

Faye could tell Colin would rather have stayed to talk to them, too, but he ushered her toward the hotel. “Come on, we need to get out of here.”

She quickened her pace to keep up with his long strides. The way he kept her close, his head moving from side to side as he watched for threats, made her feel safe and protected.

As much as she hated to admit it, because she really didn’t want him, or anyone for that matter, to be in danger—she needed Colin Finnegan. His support, quick thinking, and sharp reflexes had saved her life several times in the past few hours.

“I really don’t understand this.” She sighed once they were settled in Mitch’s SUV. Colin surprised her by driving up and over a curb to get away from the hotel because the firetrucks had the street blocked off. Apparently, nothing was going to keep him from leaving the area as quickly as possible.

“Look at your list.” Colin shot her a glance. “Something you did or didn’t do has to be the motivation here. Once we understand what that is, we can find the person responsible.”

“Okay.” She unfolded the list of patient names. “Wow, there are twenty-five names here along with a summary of the complaint. I had no idea this many people were upset with me.” Her eyes widened. “And this is only the past six months!”

“I expected more,” Colin said frankly.

“Why? I’m a good doctor.” She was hurt he’d assumed she wasn’t doing her best.

“Of course, you are. You know as well as I do that some people blame the doctor when a patient’s outcome isn’t what they’d hoped for.” He smiled reassuringly. “I believe most of those complaints are centered around not wanting to hear what you had to tell them.”

“Maybe.” She sighed and scanned the names first. Out of the entire list there was only one that she remembered by name, a Martin Steele. He’d come in with stroke symptoms that had been going on for almost eight hours. She’d activated the stroke team and had given care per their stroke protocol, but he had not recovered. As she reviewed the complaint, she read about how the patient’s wife, Lavone, blamed her for her husband’s left-sided paralysis. The woman went on to say she’d filed a complaint with the medical licensing board too.

She’d felt terrible about Mr. Steele’s poor outcome, but she wasn’t responsible. The hospital did tons of stroke training throughout the year, especially during May, National Stroke Awareness Month. There were paid commercials as well as flyers that went out to all the households with patients who’d been seen at Trinity Medical Center. The goal was to treat a possible stroke within three hours of the onset of symptoms. Not eight hours. Reading the complaint now, she remembered how upset she’d been to get the initial call about the complaint. Thankfully, the hospital and the medical licensing board had both agreed her care of Mr. Steele was appropriate.

Displaced anger, just as Colin suggested.

Shaking her head, she went back to the top of the list. As much as Mr. Steele’s wife was mad at her, she hardly thought the woman was the arsonist. For one thing, the patient was in his sixties, and if she remembered the wife correctly, she was of a similar age. No way had she ridden away on a motor scooter from the park.

A son or daughter? That was a possibility she hadn’t considered.

She sighed and continued reading. Some of the complaints were centered around billing, which she understood but didn’t control. She read every single complaint, finding three patients who were younger men who’d been unhappy with her care. Mostly because they’d had long wait times to see a doctor. Again, not something she could control.

If she were to prioritize the list, she’d put the three younger men low on the totem pole. The more seriously ill patients, like Mr. Steele, or Mrs. Rainey who’d passed away of a heart attack under her care, should be at the top. Maybe their surviving spouses hadn’t decided to come after her, but one of their children might have. It seemed a stretch, but the entire situation was illogical.

What if none of the names on the list belonged to the arsonist? They’d be right back to square one.

“Find anything?” Colin asked as he exited the interstate.

“Not really.” She waved a hand. “We can talk to Mitch about a couple of these complaints, but I’d be shocked if anyone from this list is responsible for these fires.”

“You didn’t take care of any burn patients?”

She frowned, thinking about that. “I did take care of a young man who was injured setting off fireworks around the Fourth of July. He suffered second-degree burns on his right hand, his dominant hand. It was a pretty big deal as far as how his mobility had suffered. People don’t realize how much they need their fingers and thumb until they can’t use them.”

“Do you remember his name?”

She shook her head. “No, and if I did, I couldn’t tell you. Patient confidentiality, remember? Besides, I hardly think some guy who’d gotten burned would continue setting fires. Wouldn’t he shy away from getting burned again?”

“Not always.” Colin shrugged. “I’ve heard stories of firebugs finally getting caught with numerous burn scars as souvenirs of their handiwork.”

She stared at him, feeling slightly sick. “That’s horrible.”

“As my brother Aiden says, it takes all kinds of people to make the world go around.” Colin grinned. “Aiden often gets deployed as part of the National Guard. He’s done everything from pandemic response to disaster relief to taking on angry mobs.”

“Sounds interesting, I guess. I don’t remember Aiden very well.” She changed the subject, growing tired of talking about theories of how criminal minds worked. In her job, she’d witnessed many patients with serious behavioral health problems. None of them had talked about starting fires, though.

“Aiden and Alanna are twins. They were seventeen when our parents died. You graduated early, so you wouldn’t remember them from high school. They started as freshmen my senior year. But you may have seen them around the neighborhood.”

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